SixPapaCharlie
May the force be with you
- Joined
- Aug 8, 2013
- Messages
- 16,012
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Sixer
Every year at Christmas, I re-earn my dad stripes by drinking heavily and assembling what ever bicycle, scooter, race track, doll house must be placed under the tree the following morning.
There is the cussing at missing parts, extra parts, stripped screws.
There is the complaining about unreadable instructions.
There is the crying when the beer runs out.
But every year it continues to be a rite-of-passage, building some piece of plastic in my pajamas next to a fire while the kids sleep in the other room.
*sigh*
So the trampoline arrived Tuesday.
In boxes it sits by the back gate mocking me when I pass.
It knows that this year is different.
It knows this year, I will be outside on Dec 24th in the cold with no fire, having switched to hard liquor just for this specific occasion.
The cussing will be louder, the instructions harder to read by the light of my smart phone.
The missing parts will be extra missing and the night will be much longer.
I will learn the true depths to which I am willing to push my body to force this 2 man job into a 1 man operation, sacrificing time, comfort and the lifespan of my back.
I will get to push my new shoulder to its limits and probably well beyond its max structural support as specified in the SOH (Shoulder Operating Handbook)
The box looks at me knowing I will sweat and the sweat will freeze.
It also knows mixed with the sweat will be frozen tears and certainly frozen blood on my hands.
The box knows whether my wrenches are metric or English and laughs quietly knowing which bolts it is hiding from me deep inside its contents.
That box silently gloats knowing whichever socket I lost recently is the one most needed for the construction.
The box knows all of this. It does.
There are however things which this box does not know. That's right.
It does not know that my stubbornness knows no limits.
It does not know that I will make a small socket fit a big bolt if I have to melt the metal and re shape it with my bare hands.
It doesn't know that I see busted knuckles as a badge of honor
It doesn't know that the icy mixture of blood, sweat and tears is just armor that I generate from within.
The box does not know that for my kids, I will use sheer will power to make the bounciest fvcking Christmas morning North Texas has ever seen.
After the project is complete and just when the gin runs dry....
After the last drop is gone....
The box does not know that I will have a backup bottle on hand for this one night.
The box will look at me as if to ask "why?"
"The project is complete. You have conquered the trampoline"
"Your work is done." It will say.
Not yet.
One more gin and tonic.
Not to celebrate my victory. No, that is assured.
This one is to warm my insides.
Then I will feed the box into the fire to warm my armor.
This part, the box does not yet know.
There is the cussing at missing parts, extra parts, stripped screws.
There is the complaining about unreadable instructions.
There is the crying when the beer runs out.
But every year it continues to be a rite-of-passage, building some piece of plastic in my pajamas next to a fire while the kids sleep in the other room.
*sigh*
So the trampoline arrived Tuesday.
In boxes it sits by the back gate mocking me when I pass.
It knows that this year is different.
It knows this year, I will be outside on Dec 24th in the cold with no fire, having switched to hard liquor just for this specific occasion.
The cussing will be louder, the instructions harder to read by the light of my smart phone.
The missing parts will be extra missing and the night will be much longer.
I will learn the true depths to which I am willing to push my body to force this 2 man job into a 1 man operation, sacrificing time, comfort and the lifespan of my back.
I will get to push my new shoulder to its limits and probably well beyond its max structural support as specified in the SOH (Shoulder Operating Handbook)
The box looks at me knowing I will sweat and the sweat will freeze.
It also knows mixed with the sweat will be frozen tears and certainly frozen blood on my hands.
The box knows whether my wrenches are metric or English and laughs quietly knowing which bolts it is hiding from me deep inside its contents.
That box silently gloats knowing whichever socket I lost recently is the one most needed for the construction.
The box knows all of this. It does.
There are however things which this box does not know. That's right.
It does not know that my stubbornness knows no limits.
It does not know that I will make a small socket fit a big bolt if I have to melt the metal and re shape it with my bare hands.
It doesn't know that I see busted knuckles as a badge of honor
It doesn't know that the icy mixture of blood, sweat and tears is just armor that I generate from within.
The box does not know that for my kids, I will use sheer will power to make the bounciest fvcking Christmas morning North Texas has ever seen.
After the project is complete and just when the gin runs dry....
After the last drop is gone....
The box does not know that I will have a backup bottle on hand for this one night.
The box will look at me as if to ask "why?"
"The project is complete. You have conquered the trampoline"
"Your work is done." It will say.
Not yet.
One more gin and tonic.
Not to celebrate my victory. No, that is assured.
This one is to warm my insides.
Then I will feed the box into the fire to warm my armor.
This part, the box does not yet know.
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